


The Ice Cream Incident

by helena_s_renn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Facials, Food Sex, Ice Cream, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Swearing, Teenage Winchesters, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean buys Sam some ice cream on a hot summer day. Things get a little out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ice Cream Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Sam is 15-ish here.  
> A/N: written for LJ's sadme4b.

Their whole lives, Dad never bought them candy. Or cookies. Or anything sweet. So, no ice cream either. When Dean suggested they go get some, Sam was at a loss for words, but intrigued. He didn’t even know Dean ate the stuff. 

They went through the drive-through at the DQ. Sam leaned over to look up at the board as best he could from the passenger side, while the Impala sat there, rumbling, unable to decide. Flavors? Cone? Ice cream bar? What the fuck was a blizzard? Dean shoved him back over to his side and said he’d order for him.

What he was handed was not what Sam had been expecting. Plain soft-serve on a cone? “Vanilla? God, Dean, how boring are you?”

“Not very,” Dean retorted, raising his eyebrows. His treat was the same. Probably the cheapest thing on the menu.

The sun was bright and the day was hot, and rather than have the thing melt all over his hand, Sam started licking. He felt silly. It was... too intimate. Like exposing himself. He could have blushed, to hear himself slurp like that. To have his tongue hanging out and slobbering all over something, even if was just ice cream. It did taste pretty good on a hot day.

When he sneaked a look over at Dean, he saw his brother watching the road, driving one-handed; at the same time, he tilted his head slightly and his mouth opened and his tongue flicked out to swirl a pattern of taste bud lines around the side of the ice cream. Dean pulled it back in to dissolve the frozen white stuff in his mouth. Then he did it again, twisting his wrist to go all the way around the cone’s lip. His tongue seemed thicker this time, not as long. As for Sam’s tongue, he had to pull it back into his mouth before it dried out from being mid-air for so long. 

He could have just chucked the stupid ice cream out the window and let the roadside flies and dogs have it. But no, it was like his hand was glued to the waxy blond cone and he HAD to keep eating it. And watching Dean while his dick tingled and got hard in his shorts, Sam powerless to stop it or his spying. 

It was the tongue. Dean maybe wasn’t sucking it, but it looked like he was giving that cone... head. Deliberate, careful, loving head. He poked the tip of his tongue into the top peak that his lips had pulled into that shape. Then he swirled all around it again, catching all the drips. Next, he shoved the entire frozen cream part into his mouth, forming it all over again into a smooth white upside down funnel shape. Okay, that really did look like he was blowing it, that particular move. 

After the first few repetitions, Sam got it that his dick wasn’t going down anytime soon. And it was dripping like fucking melting ice cream. So what the hell, he might as well take advantage of the lesson Dean was teaching, unaware. He began to imitate the movements. Ice cream burned the surface of his tongue, but Sam did the swirl, the poke, the other thing that looked like sucking. 

He was unaware Dean was watching, till he went stock-still with interested if a little bit pissed-off eyes taking him in. “Quit fellating your fucking ice cream, Sammy,” Dean growled. 

“What?! Am not!” As if his body was eager to call him a liar, Sam blushed to his hairline.

“Yeah, you were. And you’re giving me a goddamn boner, so stop.” 

Embarrassed or not, Sam still wasn’t going to take that sort of shit off Dean. “Fuck you, you started it. And you can just stop it, too.” 

“Bullshit.” Dean’s snap reaction was always deny, no matter how right Sam was. Then he considered. Sam could practically see him thinking, and _what_ he was thinking, and Sam turned his body just slightly at the last second before Dean’s eyes swiveled around, down. “Ha. Made you hard, too, huh?” 

Not just his face but his ears and neck were burning now, too; Sam squirmed in his seat and didn’t answer. Dean looked at him shortly, but didn’t push it.

They were back to the house minutes later. Sam bolted out his door and into the unlocked house, kicking through a salt line by accident. Halfway through the middle of the shabby living room, Dean hooked his left foot from behind, and caught him around the waist before he slammed into the floor. 

“Let me go!” Sam yelled. He had to get out of there, before Dean’s hands made him... before he...

The broad palm slid from just under his breastbone on down to his belly button, the other resting upon the dimples in his lower back and the too-sensitive curve, all sweaty from being pressed against the back of the Impala’s seat. Sam wiggled like a fish on a hook which only made Dean hold onto him tighter. He tossed his little, okay, not so little, brother onto his butt on the couch and wedged his knees open, tugging at Sam’s one pair of nylon gym shorts one-handed. 

From nowhere, that cursed cone had appeared again. 

“Alright, you little fucker,” Dean growled at him. The look in his narrowed eyes said he was serious. No, not. Sam couldn’t decide. It made him nervous as hell. They’d never done anything like this. Some rubbing up against each other in the night when they had to share a bed. Yes, it had happened. Had been happening since Dean was younger than Sam was now, though it had been a while before Sam had fully understood. And now he sure as hell did, because it wasn’t like he hadn’t been blown before and Dean got laid for real all the time. He just didn’t know how far he would go. Be able to go without breaking. 

And it was down to the ice cream again. Dean stared directly into Sam’s face, deliberately licking his own lips, then the white frozen stuff, showing Sam the surface of his tongue coated in it, candy pink for the opaqueness. Next lick, he took more and let the milky blob nearly slide off before sucking it in past his lips. Now there were pale, pearly streaks all over Dean’s mouth. 

“And now... risking brainfreeze...” Dean took a bite of the stuff, holding it his mouth. “Shit!” he hissed a moment later, cringing. “...warm it up!” Then he was down on Sam’s dick, cold-coated mouth surrounding the head, the fissure, and more. 

Sam screamed. “Fuck!! Jesus H. on a...!” Cold! And... hot! Like Dean and his little trick, Sam’s hips didn’t give warning either. There had to be a direct connection from his eyes to his balls because as soon as he saw his brother sucking him, those glistening rose lips tucked tight around his boner, Sam bucked a few times and lost it, spewing his own cream into the frigid slurry sugarcoating Dean’s mouth. As if he were delicious as well, Dean hummed his appreciation and slurped everything down, cum and all.

If Sam was left open-mouthed and empty-balled, he felt he should get a pass for that. It wasn’t every day one’s brother molested them with ice cream. So when Dean stood up and pulled his zipper down carefully over the bulge at his crotch, it was no wonder Sam didn’t see it coming... Not even when Dean wrapped his hand around his swollen dick and jerked...

“I think you need... some topping... for your ice cream...” Dean managed a few porn-vid words between gasps before he shot. Warm spurts hit Sam: left cheekbone, forehead, chin, the right side of his neck... drip, drip, drip... nipple, chest, flank, belly... “Sammmmm...” he moaned, flat stomach trembling above the open vee of his jeans.

Still unable to speak, more or less speechless, Sam dipped a finger experimentally into the spunk that had run into his navel. It sure as hell didn’t taste like DQ. But it was Dean, so he’d deal. However... 

“Next time,” he finally got a word in, “whipped cream?” 

 

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Nope, no sequels!


End file.
